


Anti-kink: Wall!sex

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3780451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oops, been totally lax in cross-posting my anti-kink fic  (series archived <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a> on LJ)! </p>
<p>Dean is so totally, definitely tall enough to fuck Sam up against a wall. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Wall!sex

** Wall!sex **

 

Dean chuckled as Sam let his head thunk back against the brickwork, moaning softly and bucking his hips forward, trying to rub off against Dean.

“Sammy, Sammy...Against a library, really? Isn’t this some kinda sacrilege in Geek World?”

“Fuck you,” laughed Sam breathlessly, snagging his fingers through Dean’s belt loops and pulling him closer, slotting their groins together. “Like you’re the first person who’s gotten me off against a library wall. Please.”

“Oh, is there a kink I should know about, little brother?” teased Dean, lips working over Sam’s neck as he ground against him. “Shoulda known that musty old books get your motor revving. Why the hell else would you have spent so much of your adolescence hanging out around them?”

Dean paused suddenly, a terrible thought occurring to him. “Wait, that’s not actually true, is it...?”

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing hold of Dean’s ass to get him moving again as he all too easily pictured his brother’s train of thought. “No, asshat, I do not get off on books and no, I’ve never been aroused by the way Bobby’s house smells, okay?”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, reaching up to tangle his hands in Sam’s hair and kissing him passionately. 

They were just getting into it, rocking hard against one another, pawing and pushing at each other, Sam’s back slamming up against the wall, when they heard a high-pitched shriek.

Turning towards the end of the narrow alley running beside the library, they saw an elementary-schooler in a pink dress with pigtails, pointing at them and shouting.

“Help! There’s a man being mugged! Help!”

“Wha-? No! No,” called Sam with a nervous chuckle, shoving Dean away from him, then quickly pulling him back when he realised that he’d inadvertently flashed the little girl. He hastily fastened his pants while Dean scowled, looking incredibly put-upon. Once Sam was decent, he stepped towards the child, who was still yelling. Crap, he could hear pounding feet. “I’m fine! There’s no mugging!”

“That’s what a mugger would say!” she retorted haughtily, and Sam raised his eyebrows, turning to Dean for support.

“She’s got a point,” he said helpfully.

“Daddy! Daddy, look! There’s a bad man like they taught us about at school!” she shouted as her father came running up, armed with a cell phone and a rolled-up copy of Us Weekly. 

“Oh, thank goodness, I’m saved,” muttered Dean. 

“Hey, wait, this isn’t even fair! I was against the wall,” pointed out Sam in annoyance to his brother. “If anyone was mugging anyone, _you_ were mugging _me_.”

“Right, like I’d mug someone the size of a Yeti. I mean sure, you’re a total pussy, but I don’t know that if I’m just some random mugger, do I?”

“You’re such an ass.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were still laughing at themselves when they got back to the motel, entertained by the notion that they’d literally run away from a seven year-old girl and a man armed with a (frankly mediocre) popular magazine. 

Werewolves and vampires and demons they could handle. They’d both faced down witches and shifters and demi-gods with nothing more than a smartass comment in their arsenal. But, honestly, if they had to suffer the embarrassment of trying to explain away their gay incestuous antics one more time, someone was going to have a nervous breakdown.

“You suck at mugging, dude,” snorted Dean.

“Shut up! I’d be a totally awesome mugger.”

“Yeah, you’d just flash those puppy-dog eyes at them and they’d _give_ you their money, a scratch behind the ears and probably a cookie.”

Grinning, Sam caught Dean around the waist as he kicked the motel room door shut, pulling him close and nudging at his face with his nose. “Aw. You think I’m adorable.”

“I think you’re a freakin’ Saint Bernard,” corrected Dean, trying to shrug out of his grasp with a long-suffering sigh. Stupid sasquatch brother, manhandling all the time like some kind of chick, and kinda making him like it, the total dick. “Get off me.”

“Nu-uh, don’t think so. Think I’m gonna get right back to mugging your ass.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, still squirming in Sam’s embrace. “That’s just wrong.”

“Your face is wrong,” murmured Sam against Dean’s neck, mouthing at the skin. 

Dean finally relented, ceasing his escape attempts and sliding his hands through Sam’s ridiculous hair. He would never mention it – you know, because he didn’t actually have a vagina, despite all evidence to the contrary – but he pretty much loved it when Sam was in a playful, teasing mood. They didn’t always get enough lightness in their lives, and a happy Sam just about guaranteed a happy Dean. 

“Your insults are lame,” he informed Sam with a sad shake of his head, as if disappointed that he’d raised such a weak-ass trash talker. 

“Maybe. But I’ve got a massive dick, so there’s that.”

Dean laughed, kissing the cute little divots of Sam’s dimples. “Okay, I guess you’re forgiven. So...wanna get back to the ass-fucking?”

“Such a sweet-talker...” 

Sam kissed Dean heatedly, trying to walk him back towards the closest bed. He stopped, confused, when Dean first resisted him and then stomped on his foot when that didn’t work. “Hey! What? I thought we were fucking?”

“We are, but I wanna do it like before.”

“Gonna have to be more specific, Dean.”

“Against the wall. Dumbass.”

“You know, it’s not the best etiquette in the world to call your lover names when you’re trying to get laid,” grumbled Sam as he switched direction and started herding Dean towards the wall instead.

“And yet, you keep putting out.”

“I must be really frickin’ easy.”

“You really are. And I gotta tell you, Sammy, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” replied Dean with a smirk, letting out a loud whoosh of breath when Sam slammed him against the wall a little harder than necessary.

They made out for a while, hands shoving inside one another’s clothes, and Sam thought it was high time to rush past all the bases and try to score a homerun. However, when he tried to turn Dean around to face the wall, he once again met resistance.

“What now?” he griped. God, sometimes living with Dean was like living with a particularly obnoxious toddler with a strong will and unfathomable anti-logic. 

“I want to fuck you.”

“Oh. Okay. Wait, against the wall?”

“Yes.”

“Like...Standing up?”

“What? Yes, obviously standing up. How the hell else would we do it?” Sure, they could lie down and roll up against the baseboard to fuck, but that seemed fairly pointless. 

“Shut up, I know that! It’s just...”

“What? Spit it out, I haven’t got all day. Your ass isn’t going to fuck itself, you know.”

Sam had been trying to think of a delicate way to phrase his sentence. However, since his brother was clearly the Tooliest Tool in Tooltown, he wasn’t going to bother sugar-coating it.

“You’re way too much of a shortass to fuck me against the wall.”

Dean gaped at him, his expression morphing into furious outrage. “Dude! That is just...It’s...it’s...ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous how?” asked Sam with smug superiority. “I’m more than three inches taller than you.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got proportionally shorter legs.”

“What?! No, I haven’t.”

“You do. You’ve got, like, some freaky moose body stuck on a normal guy’s legs. I’m surprised you don’t fall over more often.”

Sam glowered at Dean and his utterly contemptible and fallacious ramblings. “At least my legs are straight. You’d probably be my height if you didn’t walk around like a bandy-legged cowboy straddling an elephant.”

Dean stared flatly at him, back molars practically grinding in annoyance. “You’re not exactly increasing your chances of getting laid here, buddy boy.”

“Me?!” began Sam, but then checked himself, sighing. There was just no point in arguing, and he really would like Dean to shut up so they could have some sex. “Okay, fine, sorry. Listen, if you want to try it that way, with you fucking me, then we will.”

“Gee, thank you, Sammy,” said Dean with sarcastic gratitude. “How generous of you to grant me _permission_ to fuck my own broth...”

To his credit, Dean did realise how incredibly fucked up it was even as he was saying it. Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean cleared his throat. The seconds ticked by, Dean biting on his lip and looking abashed. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called and a car horn blared. 

“So...this is awkward.”

Sam tried to hide his grin. “Yeah.”

“Kiss through it?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Sam, taking Dean’s face in his hands and tilting it, pressing their lips together. They immediately opened their mouths, slicking their tongues together, and Sam pushed his hips forward as Dean grabbed hold of his ass, cupping and squeezing the firm muscle. 

Sam didn’t object as Dean reversed their positions, shoving him up against the wall and then grinding against him. He groaned as Dean’s hand slipped between then, rubbing at his crotch with firm, demanding strokes interspersed with grabby gropes. 

“Come on, man,” mumbled Sam, pushing into Dean’s touches. “Been hard since the damned library.”

“Need to fuck, Sam?” smiled Dean against his lips, tugging open his fly.

“Yeah,” he breathed, gasping when Dean’s hand finally found his dick, hot and tight and gripping him just right. “Oh, fuck yeah. Come on.”

Dean loved a needy Sam almost as much as a happy Sam and he grinned as he spun his brother around and pushed him face-first against the wall, plastering up against his back and stripping Sam’s jeans down to mid-thigh. Kissing Sam’s neck and nuzzling against his nape, Dean didn’t waste any time pressing two spit-slick fingers inside him as he reached around and jacked his cock with the other hand.

Sam shuddered and bucked forward into the tight circle of Dean’s fist, his ass tightening around Dean’s fingers and then relaxing, allowing him to push deep.

Dean hummed against his neck, rocking his own dick against Sam’s thigh as he stretched him out. “Such a slut for me, Sammy. Gonna take me just like this, huh? Don’t even need lube now, do you?”

Sam probably didn’t – all right, definitely didn’t – but Dean didn’t need to sound so smug about it. “Just shut the hell up and do it, would you? Jesus.”

“Okay, okay,” soothed Dean, briefly adding a third finger to make sure that Sam was ready for him and wouldn’t get hurt. He then muttered, “Bossy little bottom.”

Sam graciously chose to ignore him, simply wiggling his ass demandingly, and Dean pulled his fingers free and slid down the fly of his jeans. He paused for a moment to admire Sam’s hands flat against the wall, fingers curling for purchase they wouldn’t find, his chest trapped up against the hard surface. He looked so beautifully submissive. 

“Now!” Sam growl-whined, completely shattering the illusion. Dean rolled his eyes. 

Freeing his cock with a sigh of pleasurable relief, Dean spat into his hand and jacked it a few times, then stepping forward and pressing close to Sam.

Looking down, he frowned irritably to notice that while he was indeed tall enough to put his dick in Sam’s ass, he wasn’t tall enough to put all of it in. Well, that sucked. Still, there was an easy fix.

“Hey, Sam? Spread your legs a bit wider.”

“Problem?” asked Sam mildly. He was still facing the wall, but Dean could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice.

“No. No problem. Just...Do what I tell you.”

“Are you sure? So it’s not that you’re too short to fuck me then?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Sam chuckled and Dean slapped him on the ass, grumbling. Finally, Sam relented and tried to slide his legs further apart. But his jeans were bunched just above his knees and he only managed to lower himself an inch or two.

“Further!”

“I can’t! And even if I could, I’m not gonna stand here practically doing the splits because you need a stepladder.”

“Screw you, asshat.”

“I wish you would...”

Dean smacked his ass again, making him yelp. “This is serious, Sam! You’re gonna have to scoot down further. Just...bend your knees a bit.”

“Dude, seriously...”

“Don’t even fucking say it, Sam,” warned Dean. “I’m a perfectly normal size, you’re the freak, so just crouch down and shut up about it.”

Trying to pass his sniggers off as a cough, Sam attempted to oblige his brother – and his poor, itty bitty, wounded ego – by bending his knees a little. They immediately clunked against the wall. Frowning slightly, he tried stepping back a pace so that he had room to work. His upper body was still flat to the wall for balance, but he managed to get his lower body around a foot away from the baseboard and he tried to crouch.

“What the fuck are you doing? You look like a duck.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Either grow three inches or shut the fuck up.”

Trying to ignore how utterly ridiculous Sam looked with his ass stuck out, wriggling like an enthusiastic stripper’s during a Gaga song, Dean grabbed his own dick and lined it up with Sam’s ass. Grunting at the pleasure of hot, tight muscle clamping around him, he managed in a couple of hard shoves to get...halfway inside. Damn it!

Thankfully, Sam was temporarily distracted, moaning and writhing at the sensation of being (partially) filled, so Dean thought for a moment and then rose up onto tiptoes. That got him a little further inside, but he couldn’t realistically fuck his brother precariously balanced on his steel toecaps like the world’s most unlikely ballerina. 

“What are you waiting for?” panted Sam.

“What? Nothing.”

“So where’s the rest of it?” he demanded breathlessly.

“Never had any complaints before, Sammy...”

Sam turned and looked over his shoulder, just to make good and sure that his brother knew he was bitchfacing. “Will you quit being a stubborn douche and just put your whole cock in me?! Christ.”

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist and tugged him down, impaling him fully on his shaft and shutting him up quite effectively. 

“There? That enough dick for you, slutty little bitch?”

Confident that Dean couldn’t see his pleasure-glazed eyes fluttering, Sam schooled his voice into disinterest and said, “Eh, it’ll do.”

Dean gave his ass a third – and well deserved – slap, then tried to thrust. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Sam was practically sitting in his lap, forcing Dean to take a lot of his weight and lean back slightly, his balance off-centre. He did a couple of ungainly squat-thrusts, realised that he was perilously close to falling on his ass, and grabbed hold of Sam for stability. 

“Uh...Sammy? Can you...”

“Can I what?” asked Sam in exasperation. He’d _finally_ started getting fucked, and now Dean had stopped again!

“Move up and down. Fuck yourself on me.”

“What?” Sam turned and looked at his brother again, expression incredulous. “You want to fuck me against the wall...but you want _me_ to do all the work?”

“Uh...Yeah. Come on, don’t be lazy.”

Sam shook his head, pursing his lips together. With a long-suffering sigh, he began rising up and down with stilted and awkward movements that achieved little more than making his thighs burn and his knees knock against the wall. 

“Well, put some freakin’ effort in,” groused Dean.

Sam doubled his efforts, bobbing up and down like a giant on a space hopper. His knees thunked against the wall, followed by his head on several occasions as Dean shifted around, almost falling over and throwing his weight forward as a counterbalance. To make matters worse, Dean was using both hands to hang on, thereby leaving no palm free to wrap around Sam’s neglected cock.

“Dean,” whined Sam, drawing it out to at least three syllables. He was panting and sweating, body shaking with the effort of maintaining the strange position.

“What?” panted Dean. He had to admit, it wasn’t easy or graceful – but there was pretty much no situation where being buried in his brother’s ass wasn’t fun.

“My legs are hurting. And this isn’t really doing much for me. It’s...uncomfortable.”

“Suck it up and stop being such a pussy.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. His erection was barely still there, damn it, and that was so not cool. 

“Right, that’s it.”

Dean began to protest as Sam stood up to his full height, effectively pulling himself off Dean’s dick, and yanked his pants back up. Before Dean had chance to get more than two words out of his mouth, however, Sam had whirled around, half-lifted him off the ground, and then crossed the room and slammed him back-first into the adjacent wall. The impact was so strong that the slender drywall separating the bedroom from the bathroom shuddered.

“What are you doing?!” demanded Dean hoarsely, refusing to acknowledge the bolt of lust that had nearly overwhelmed him. Damn, his ‘little’ brother had moves.

“I’m doing what I should have done in the first place,” replied Sam, ducking down to strip Dean’s jeans down his legs and off (along with his boots) in a series of efficient movements. As he stood back up, he snatched up Dean’s legs and wrapped them around his own waist, sweeping him off his feet and holding him securely against the wall with easy strength. “ _I’m_ fucking _you_ against the wall, and you are shutting up and loving it. Got it?”

Dean nodded helplessly, letting Sam kiss him deeply while he shifted them into position and started easing his way inside. Dean cursed and writhed, hooking his ankles together over Sam’s ass and grinding down as his brother fucked into him. It hurt a little without the benefit of any stretching or lube, but being manhandled was so fucking hot that he didn’t notice a bit. 

Once Sam was all the way inside, pelvis snug to Dean’s ass, he paused. Running a hand through Dean’s hair, kissing the corner of his mouth, he moaned softly and said, “So tight...Perfect. You okay?”

Dean nodded, clamping his muscles down on Sam and smiling when he cursed with pleasure. “Pretty damned okay, Sammy. You know...I could have done this to you.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah – for five seconds. Until your back gave out and I had to spend the next two weeks waiting on your sorry ass.”

“I’d have been totally fine!” protested Dean. He cocked his head to the side, acknowledging, “But you _are_ damned heavy, you overgrown freak.”

Sam snapped his hips, fucking hard into Dean and making him whimper and gasp at the same time, eyes squeezing tight with pain-laced pleasure. “Ungh.”

“That’s what I thought,” asserted Sam smugly, settling Dean more firmly against the wall and thrusting into him, grinding up and doing the best he could with his limited leverage. To his credit, Dean finally shut up and just hung on for the ride, clenching and flexing in all the right ways, driving Sam so crazy that he barely even registered the fact that fucking his one hundred and eighty pound brother against the wall was both heavy and awkward. 

Still, they’d never been ones for making life easy for themselves.

Dean held Sam tight, one hand tugging on his hair while the other gripped at his back muscles, secretly relishing the sleek, powerful feel. With all his weight basically seated in Sam’s lap, and Sam giving short, deep thrusts, his prostate was getting continually, relentlessly nailed. He knew that he was writhing and practically mewling like a needy little slut, which was faintly embarrassing, but his dick thought it was party time, and his brain obligingly followed its lead.

“So fucking good, Sammy,” he moaned, thumping his head back against the wall as Sam licked and bit at his neck. “Yeah, come on...So hot for it.”

And he was, too. About ten seconds away from blowing his load, actually. Which was probably why he couldn’t be bothered to worry too much about the alarming creaking and _shifting_ feel at his back. Nor the little clouds of plaster raining down in his hair. 

Sure, the motel was old and crappy, and whoever had hastily thrown up the drywall had probably half-assed it, and it almost certainly wasn’t designed to withstand around four hundred pounds slamming repeatedly into it, but it could hold up for the few seconds it was gonna take for Dean to reach Happy Land, right?

Right.

Even through his intense haze of pleasure, a part of Dean’s mind managed to be pleasantly shocked that the wall continued to support his back while the heat and bliss burst through him, making him curse and buck forward as he shot his load between himself and his brother, slicking their stomachs. 

Also impressed with the unprecedented successful outcome of a kinky experiment, Sam shoved Dean even harder against the wall and began to piston inside his suddenly (unhelpfully) lax body, chasing down his own orgasm.

Of course, the wall thought that would be an excellent time to fuck them over.

As Sam gave a particularly hard thrust, the plaster simply exploded into the bathroom, leaving a Winchester-shaped hole in the wall. A hole that was naturally just the right size and shape to allow Sam and Dean to tumble straight through it with a loud volley of curses.

Dean had time for two clear thoughts before hitting the deck: _this is gonna suck_ , followed swiftly by, _at least I’ve already come_. Hey, he was a glass-half-full kind of a guy.

He was right: it did suck. He smashed into the ground in a hail of plaster hard enough to rattle his ribs and knock all the wind out of him. _Then_ six-four of muscular brother landed on top of him, somehow managing to remain buried inside just so that Dean’s internal organs could feel as rearranged as the rest of his squished body.

Dean didn’t have the air to bitch or protest, so he pawed weakly at Sam’s shoulders as an indication that he should roll the fuck off – and possibly administer CPR or something to get Dean’s lungs functioning again. 

Sam didn’t take the hint.

In fact, Sam was dead weight. A vicious pinch that elicited not even the smallest of bitchy protests confirmed Dean’s worst fears: his brother was out cold.

The bathroom was...cosy, at best. Just cosy enough, apparently, that if someone Sam’s height fell into it, they’d be apt to knock their head on the sink as they headed floor-ward. 

Dean was just short enough that he’d escaped the same fate.

And better believe that Dean fully intended to point out the amusing irony of that fact to his concussed little brother, loudly and at length. Just as soon as Sam woke up and Dean was able to get out of his current predicament.

He sighed, surveying the indignity of his situation. He was spread-eagled on the bathroom floor, crushed beneath his unconscious little brother, with a cock up his ass and his own spunk cooling and drying to a tacky paste between them as he stared out at the motel room through a them-shaped hole. 

Not his most shining moment, admittedly.

Still, at least he had that whole orgasm thing going for him. He wasn’t sure when exactly their sex life had become a competition, but there was no doubt that he was up one-nothing in the wall sex round, shortass or not. 

He poked Sam irritably. Gloating was just no fun when he couldn’t gauge his success via the force of Sam’s bitchface. 

No response. Dean clucked his tongue and tried to settle more comfortably, evidently in for the long haul. He’d amuse himself by thinking up more sturdy places to have wall sex, because it had been _awesome_...right up until that end bit.

Maybe the next time they found themselves in a jail cell...

 

THE END


End file.
